Mary Ann and Bill Read online

  ‘Will you have a cup of tea before you go up?’ Lizzie was looking at Mary Ann.

  ‘No, Mam; it’s no time since I had a meal, I’ll go now. But perhaps Johnny here would like one?’

  ‘I never say no to a cuppa.’ He was laughing up at Lizzie.

  ‘Thanks for the lift, Johnny, I’ll be seeing you.’

  ‘You will. Oh, you will.’ He nodded at her, and she went out and through the familiar farmyard and up the hill to the house where lived Mr Lord, the man who had shaped all their destinies…with her help.

  She went in the back way as she always did, and it was strange not to see Ben, either in the kitchen or coming from the hall.

  Tony met her and kissed her on the cheek. Whenever he did this she was made to wonder how different her life would have been if she had married him as Mr Lord had schemed she should. But it had been Corny who had filled her horizon since the day she had championed the raggy, tousle-haired individual against Mr Lord himself. And Tony had married Lettice, a divorcee, and they were both happy, ideally happy. It shone out of their faces whenever she saw them together. And now, as Lettice came towards her, the look was still there, which made her feel a little sad, even a little jealous.

  ‘Hello, my dear,’ Lettice kissed her warmly, then asked, ‘Are you going into the drawing room first?’

  ‘Is there time? I mean, how is Ben now?’

  ‘Oh, he’s dozing, he keeps waking up at intervals. Just go and say hello first.’

  Mr Lord was sitting, as usual, in his winged chair; during the day he would face the window and look onto the garden, but in the evening he would seat himself to the side of the big open fire.

  He did not turn his head when she entered the room. His hands, in characteristic pose, were resting on the arms of the chair, but tonight his chin wasn’t up and out, it was bent deep into his chest. She reached him before she said, ‘Hello.’ She had always greeted him with ‘Hello’. He brought his head round to her and a faint light of pleasure came into his pale, watery, blue eyes.

  ‘Hello, my dear,’ he said; then he shook his head slowly and said, ‘Sad night, sad night.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Sit close to me, here.’ He pointed to his knee, and she brought a stool from one side of the fireplace and sat where he had bidden her.

  ‘Part of me will go with him.’

  She made no answer to this. She knew it was so.

  ‘A great part.’ He stared at her for a moment before he said, ‘I have bullied him all his life, shouted, ranted and bullied him, and if we lived for another fifty years together I would continue to do so; it was my way with him. He understood it and never murmured.’

  There was a great lump in her throat as she said, ‘You were his life, you were all he had and ever wanted; he was never hurt by anything you said or did.’

  He moved his head slowly, then said, ‘He wasn’t a poor man, I’m generous in my way; he could have left me years ago…I wish I had gone before him. But it won’t be long anyway before we’re together again.’

  ‘Oh.’ Her voice broke as she whispered, ‘Oh, don’t say that. And…and it’s better this way. If he had been left alone he would have had no-one, not really, because there was only you in his life, whereas you’ve got’—she paused—‘all of us.’

  He raised his head and looked at her, then put out his long, thin, blue-veined hand and cupped her chin, ‘Yes, I’ve got all of you. But the only one I really ever wanted was you. You know that, child, don’t you?’

  She was crying openly now and she took his hand and pressed it to her cheek, and he said, ‘There, there. Go on, go on up. Twice today he has spoken your name. I know he would like to see you.’

  She rose to her feet without further words and went out into the hall. The drawing-room door was open and through it she saw Lettice and Tony standing together. When they turned and saw her they came swiftly to her and Lettice put her arm around her shoulders and said, ‘Don’t cry, don’t upset yourself. Would you like a drink, a sherry, before you go up?’

  ‘No; no, thanks.’ Mary Ann wiped her face with her handkerchief, then said, ‘I’d better go now.’

  ‘Yes, do,’ said Lettice, ‘and get it over with, and I’ll make some coffee.’ She nodded to Tony and he walked up the stairs by Mary Ann’s side, and when they entered Ben’s room a nurse rose from the side of the bed and, coming towards them, said, ‘He’s awake.’

  Mary Ann went forward and stood gazing down on Ben. He looked a very, very old man, much older than his eighty years. She bent over him and said softly, ‘Hello, Ben.’

  His thin wrinkled lips moved in a semblance of a smile. Ben had rarely smiled. He had in a way grumbled at others, herself included, as much as his master had grumbled at him. He had never shown any affection towards her. At first he had shown open hostility and jealousy, because from a child she had inveigled herself into his master’s good books by being what he considered perky and cheeky, whereas his lifelong service elicited nothing but the whiplash of a tongue that was forever expressing the bitterness of life.

  ‘Mary…Mary Ann.’

  ‘Yes, Ben.’

  His lips mouthed words that were soundless; then again they moved and he said, ‘See to him, he needs you, master needs you.’

  ‘Yes, Ben. Don’t worry, I’ll see to him.’ She did not say that his master had his grandson and his grandson’s wife to see to him, for she knew that she, and she alone, could fill the void that Ben would leave in Mr Lord’s life. Even when he had been given a great-grandson the boy had not taken her place; and that was very strange when you came to think about it.

  ‘Good girl.’

  The tears were flowing down her face again. When she felt the rustle of the nurse’s skirt at her side she bent down and kissed the hollow cheek, and Ben closed his eyes.

  Tony led her from the room and down the stairs, and in the drawing room Lettice was waiting, and she said, ‘There, sit down and have your coffee.’

  ‘It’s…it’s awful. Death is awful.’

  ‘It’s got to come to us all,’ said Tony solemnly. ‘But poor old Ben’s done nothing but work all his days, yet we couldn’t stop him.’

  ‘He wouldn’t have lived to this age if we’d been able to,’ said Lettice. ‘Work was his life, working for Grandad.’

  ‘There aren’t many left like him,’ said Tony. ‘They don’t make them any more.’

  No, thought Mary Ann, they didn’t make Bens any more, not men who were willing to give their lives to others; it was every man for himself these days. The world of Ben and Mr Lord was passing; it had almost gone. It would vanish entirely, at least from their sphere, when Mr Lord died, but she prayed that that wouldn’t be for a long time yet.

  After a while she asked, ‘How’s Peter?’

  ‘Oh, fine. We had a letter from him this morning,’ said Lettice. ‘I say fine, but he has his troubles.’ She smiled. ‘He informs us that he doesn’t like the new sports master. His name is Mr Tollett, and they have nicknamed him Tightrope Tollett. I can’t see the connection but likely they can. How are the twins?’

  ‘Oh, they’re grand.’

  ‘I hear you’ve got a dog,’ said Tony now, grinning slyly.

  ‘Yes,’ said Mary Ann, ‘a bull terrier.’

  ‘So I heard. You pick the breeds.’

  ‘I didn’t pick him.’

  ‘I understand he created a little disorder in the kitchen.’

  ‘A little disorder is right,’ said Mary Ann. ‘If I’d had a gun I would have shot him on the spot. Well,’ she rose to her feet, ‘I’d better be going; I’ve left Corny to see to them and they play him up.’

  ‘Are you going to look in on Grandad again?’ asked Lettice.

  ‘Yes, just to say goodnight…’

  Ten minutes later Mary Ann entered the farm kitchen again and stopped just within the door and looked to where Johnny Murgatroyd was still sitting at the table. He called across the room to her, ‘You haven’t been long.’<
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  As she walked towards her mother she said to him, ‘You needn’t have waited.’

  ‘Oh, I had nothing better to do.’

  ‘How did you find him?’ said Lizzie.

  ‘Very low; they don’t think he’ll last the night.’

  ‘Poor old Ben,’ said Mike. ‘He was a good man…a good man.’ He knocked out the dottle from his pipe on the hob of the fire. ‘The old fellow’s going to be lost. Things won’t be the same.’

  Lizzie said now, ‘You’ll have to pop over and see Mr Lord more often. In spite of Tony and Lettice he’ll miss Ben greatly.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Mary Ann, ‘I mean to. And now,’ she fastened the top button of her coat, ‘I’d better get back.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to have something to drink?’ said Lizzie.

  ‘No; no thanks, Mam, I’ve just had a cup of coffee with Lettice and Tony.’

  As they all went through the hall to the front door Mary Ann said, ‘You’ll phone me when it happens?’

  ‘Yes, of course, dear,’ said Lizzie.

  On the drive Johnny held out his hand to Mike, saying, ‘Well, it’s been nice meeting up with you again, and you, Mrs S.’

  ‘It’s been nice seeing you, Johnny, and talking about old times,’ said Lizzie. ‘Any time you’re passing you must look in.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I will. I won’t need another invitation, and don’t forget you asked me.’

  She laughed at him; then looked at Mary Ann whose face was straight and she said, ‘Don’t worry, dear.’

  As they drove along the lane, Johnny aiming to be sympathetic, said, ‘It’s a pity about the old fellow but we’ve all got to go some time. Your dad tells me he’s eighty. Well, he’s had a good run for his money.’

  Mary Ann made no answer to this. Good run for his money. We’ve all to go some time. All trite expressions meaning nothing. Death was a frightful thing; it was the final of all final things. She knew she shouldn’t think like this. Her religion should help her, for wasn’t there a life after death, but she couldn’t see it. She often thought about death and the fact that it was so final worried her, but it was a thing you couldn’t talk about. People didn’t want to talk about death. If you talked about death you were classed as morbid. And if you told the priest of your thoughts in confession all you got was you must pray for faith. Lord I believe, help thou my unbelief. At times she got all churned up inside with one thing and another. She thought too much…‘What did you say, Johnny?’

  ‘You were miles away. I was saying that I bet you a quid you don’t know who I’m taking out the morrow.’

  ‘Now why should I?’ she smiled slightly at him. ‘I don’t know anybody you know.’

  ‘But you do. You know this one all right.’

  Her thoughts took her back to Burton Street and the surrounding district. Who did she know there that he knew? The only person who was in her life from that district was Sarah, who was now her sister-in-law. ‘You’ve got me puzzled,’ she said; ‘I still don’t know anyone that you know.’

  ‘Think hard.’

  She thought hard, then said, ‘I give up.’

  ‘What about Miss Blenkinsop?’

  Her surprise lifted her around on the seat and she exclaimed loudly, ‘What! You and Diana Blenkinsop? You’re joking.’

  ‘No, no, I’m not joking.’ His tone was slightly huffed. ‘Why should I be joking?’ He gave a swift glance at her. ‘Because she’s the boss’s daughter and I’m a ganger? Do I look like a ganger?’ He took one hand from the wheel and draped it down the front of himself.

  ‘No, no, I didn’t mean that.’ But she had meant that.

  ‘I’m going places, Mary Ann.’

  ‘I’ve no doubt of that, Johnny.’ Her smile had widened.

  ‘Do you know something?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You should be thanking me for telling you, it’ll get her out of your hair.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Her body had jerked round again.

  ‘Oh, oh, you know what I mean.’

  ‘I don’t.’

  ‘Now, now, Mary Ann, don’t let us hide our heads in the sand; you know for a fact that she’s got her sights set on your man. Everybody on the job knows it.’

  She felt she wanted to be sick, literally sick. She swallowed deeply and took in a great intake of breath before she forced herself to say on an airy note, ‘Well, I don’t care what they know on the job, it’s of no importance. She can have her sights set at any angle, she’ll only be wasting her time.’

  ‘Oh, I’m glad you’re not worried.’

  ‘I’m not worried.’ She sounded cool, confident, and he glanced quickly at her, the corner of his mouth turned upwards. ‘Still, I think, me taking her over should help you to be less worried than not being worried, if you get what I mean.’

  She remained quiet, thinking. Yes, indeed, this would make her less worried, this would show Corny what kind of girl he was almost going overboard for. The only snag was it couldn’t last because when Mr and Mrs Blenkinsop got wind of it there’d be an explosion, because beneath all their camaraderie they were snobbish, especially Mrs Blenkinsop; she kept open house but she vetted the entrants. Mary Ann felt there had been more than a touch of condescension about the invitation that was extended to themselves; it was a sort of boss’s wife being nice to an employee’s family, attitude. But Corny was no employee of Mr Blenkinsop.

  When they reached the road opposite the garage Corny was serving petrol and he jerked his head up and became quite still as he looked at Mary Ann getting out of the car and the face that was grinning at her from the window. When Johnny Murgatroyd waved to him he made no response but turned and attended to the customer.

  A few minutes later he mounted the stairs, telling himself to go carefully.

  Mary Ann was in the bedroom with the children and he had to wait a full ten minutes before she came into the kitchen. Her face was not showing sorrow for Ben, nor yet mischievous elation at being driven up to the door by Johnny Murgatroyd; it had a sort of neutral look that took some of the wind out of his sails. He watched her pat Bill and say, ‘Down! Down!’ before he forced himself to say calmly, ‘How did you find him?’

  ‘He won’t last the night.’

  In an ordinary way he would have said, ‘I’m sorry about that,’ but instead he said, ‘Where did you pick that one up?’

  She turned and looked at him over her shoulder. ‘You mean Johnny?’

  ‘Well, he didn’t look like Cliff Michelmore, or Danny Blanchflower, or the Shah of Persia.’

  She had a desire to burst out laughing, and she turned her head away and replied coolly, ‘I didn’t pick him up, he picked me up while I was waiting for the bus.’

  He screwed his face up and peered at her back. ‘You mean when you were going?’

  She turned to him and inclined her head slowly downwards, giving emphasis to his words as she repeated them, ‘Yes, when I was going.’

  ‘Then he must have waited for you?’

  ‘Yes, he waited for me, and me dad saw nothing immoral in it; neither did Mam.’

  ‘You mean he took you right to the farm?’

  ‘He took me right to the farm. Isn’t it awful, scandalous?’ She shook her head in mock horror at herself, and he said quickly, ‘Now, you can drop that. And if you’ve got any sense you’ll drop him. And the next time he offers to give you a lift you’ll tell him what to do.’

  ‘But perhaps I haven’t got any sense, Corny, perhaps I’m like you.’

  ‘Oh my God!’ He put his hand to his brow and turned from her and leaned his shoulder against the mantlepiece. Then pulling himself upwards again he shouted at her, ‘Look! I don’t let myself be seen around the town in a car with someone that’s notorious, and he is notorious. No decent girl would be seen within a mile of him.’

  ‘Really! You surprise me.’

  ‘I’m warning you.’ He took a step forward, his teeth grinding against each other. ‘You’d better not go too
far.’

  Quite suddenly the jocularity was ripped from her tone and she cried back at him, ‘You telling me not to go too far! You telling me you wouldn’t be seen in the town with anyone like him! No. No, you wouldn’t be seen around the town with Miss Blenkinsop because there’s no need, you have the privacy of the garage, and the office, haven’t you?’

  There was a silence that only waited to be shattered, then he cried, ‘You’re mad, that’s what you are, mad. And you’ll get what you’re asking for.’ He marched towards the door, pulled it open, then turned and shouted. ‘There’ll be nobody but yourself to blame when I walk out. Now remember that. It won’t be Diana who has caused it, but you, you and your rotten, jealous mind.’

  When the lower door banged the house shook.

  In the bedroom the children lay in their bunks perfectly still. Rose Mary was in the bottom bunk and she stared upwards, waiting for David to make a move, and when he didn’t she got out of the bunk and, standing on tiptoes, touched his shoulder. But he gave no sign. His face was almost covered by the blanket, and when she pulled it down his eyes were wide open, and they stared at each other.

  Chapter Nine: Rose Mary’s Sickness

  The following morning the postman brought Mary Ann a letter and she wanted to cry, ‘Look! Look! Would you believe it.’ It was from the editor of the Newcastle Courier and it said simply, ‘Dear Mrs Boyle, I am very interested in your doggy sketches and if you would care to call on me at three o’clock on Monday afternoon we could discuss their publication, subject to alteration and cutting. Yours sincerely, Albert Newman’.

  At eleven o’clock her mother phoned to say Ben had died a half an hour earlier. She didn’t know when the funeral would be, likely about Wednesday, and, of course, she would be going? Yes, said Mary Ann, she’d be there.

  ‘Are you coming over tomorrow?’ Lizzie had asked, and Mary Ann answered, ‘I think we’ll leave it this week, Mam.’ There was a long pause before Lizzie had replied ‘All right, just as you say.’